Alone Together
by belovedseafarer
Summary: Hell has been unleashed on Earth, but Bellamy Blake can't bear the thought of leaving Clarke behind to face the end of the world alone. As the second nuclear apocalypse renders the ground not survivable again, Bellamy makes the hard choice to stay behind as his friends run away towards the safety of space. He's certain of only one thing: he belongs with Clarke.
1. Left Behind

1\. Left Behind

Everything is chaos. Red lights and noisy alerts in the monitoring equipment of the lab, raven yelling orders at everyone, Murphy and Harper rushing to get Monty into the rocket. Everything seems to be moving at three times the normal speed around him, but all Bellamy Blake is able to do is stare at the lab's entrance, silently willing the doors to open and let her small figure in.

"Bellamy! Time to go!" Murphy shouts angrily at him "Raven! Get this damn thing off the ground, he's gonna get us all killed!"

He feels a pang of guilt at that and takes a step closer to the ship, looking back at the timer counting down the seconds until the radiation wave hits the lab, until it hits her. It's true, he's about to get all his friends killed, but he simply can't get his feet to move one in front of the other to hop into the rocket, not without Clarke, he physically can't leave her behind. They're already past their window of time before the radiation starts affecting the rocket's avionics, he knows he they have to leave, but if they could just wait one more minute. He knows she's gonna make it back.

"Bellamy get in here!" Raven shouts this time.

"We need to wait for her," he says, his voice cracking mid-sentence.

He looks up at his friend, already strapped in her seat in the rocket, everything ready for launch, and suddenly there is this bubbling anger rising from his chest, at himself, at Raven, at this stupid planet that can't keep its shit together for them to be at peace for any length of time, let alone be happy.

"You sent her!" he can't stop himself from shouting at Raven "I was supposed to go with her! She wasn't supposed to do it alone!"

"There's no time!"

He closes his eyes for a split second. He can see Clarke, pleading for him to hurry back to her before they parted ways, him on his way to bring Monty back, her towards the tower. He can see her, hopeful in front of the computer, making calculations on their supplies, talking about how they'll survive, and he can't bear the thought of leaving without her.

"I can't leave her behind!" his voice shakes, his entire being is shaking as the alarms blast his ears, red lights flashing on the huge screen to his right more insistently than ever.

"We know, Bellamy. But if we don't leave now…" Raven leaves the sentence incomplete and looks at him with pleading eyes.

Bellamy looks back at the door then at the projections on the screen, showing the radiation wave getting dangerously close to the lab, which makes the warnings on the rocket's control system even louder.

"Damn it, Bellamy!" Raven shouts, jumping out of her seat, trying to reach for him.

Bellamy moves away almost instinctively. Raven glares at him, about to jump out of the rocket to drag him in by sheer force, and he looks right back into her eyes, somehow knowing that there is nothing to say because, even if he's never said it out loud, everybody knows it. He belongs with Clarke. There is just no way in hell he'd leave her to face the end of the world alone, even if it means they'll both perish together.

"You won't make it…" Raven whispers, in awe of his determination.

He knows. Of course, he knows they won't make it. He can almost hear Clarke in his mind, telling him about his big heart, about how much he needs to use his brain too if he wants to survive. Everyone would say it is an impossible choice, everyone except him, because, for Bellamy Blake, there just is no choice in the matter, he just has to get to her.

"Take care of everyone," Bellamy tells Raven, and there is no changing his mind as he disconnects his oxygen pack and throws it towards their friends. "May we meet again."

"What are you doing?" Monty says in surprise as Raven catches his oxygen.

"Go!" Bellamy shouts at them, already running towards the lab's exit. "You'll have a better chance with that, I'm getting to Clark."

"You'll get yourself killed!" Murphy yells.

"We can't wait for you!" Harper adds.

"GO!" he shouts over his shoulders, louder this time.

"Damn it, Bellamy, get your ass back here!" Raven begs one last time.

But he doesn't, and the clock keeps ticking, the warnings flashing at them as he runs away from his friends. Raven has to bite back a sob as she closes the hatch, ready to leave her friends behind.

"May we meet again" she whispers quietly, as she coaxes the rocket into life with the push of some buttons, and the countdown for launch starts as Bellamy runs outside.

Bellamy's heart is racing when he gets out of Becca's lab. He can see it, getting closer with every second that passes, a fiery wave of death advancing towards him. Praimfaya. He can feel his own heartbeat drumming in his ears. He's had his own fair share of near-death experiences, but nothing has ever seemed so final as this one, so utterly unstoppable.

At least he'll get to see her before their fiery deaths. That will have to be enough.

The sound of the rocket taking off at his back shakes him to the core, but he keeps running anyway, away from the lab, in search of Clarke. It is getting unbearably hot, he can feel it through his suit. Hell has been unleashed on earth, radiation levels are too high, so much so, that he starts to feel his lungs burn as his eyes water, fighting to stay open as he frantically looks for her.

Out of Bellamy's sight, Clarke falls hard on her back from the tower just a couple of minutes after she sees the rocket take off. She has been stabbed, bunt and starved on the ground; she's felt the pain of hundreds of deaths, many of them by her own hand, many of them her own fault. She is no stranger to pain, but the kind of pain she feels in that moment, as she watches her friends take off, that is a whole new kind of pain.

It takes her a whole minute to get back on her feet. It's actually over. After all that fighting and bearing the weight of the world on her own shoulders so that her people don't have to, after all the pain and losses, it is all over. But it isn't, not really. She is still alive, fear boiling inside her. She thinks of her friends as she jumps back to her feet, and starts running right when the death wave is about to catch up. They must be up in space right now, starting to freak out about their oxygen supply, fighting to stay alive, and that is exactly what she is going to do on the ground.

The earth is on fire. There is nothing else she can think about, nothing else she can feel. It is scalding hot, she can feel the heat through the tough material of her suit, she can feel the stickiness of her feet on the ground with every step. Is it so hot that her soles are melting?

By now, Bellamy's run has turned into a strange form of crawling and he can barely see a few feet in front of him. He doesn't really know if the blurriness in his vision is caused by the sting of the radiation or the fact that he can barely get any air inside his lungs. The grim realization that he can't keep going any longer, that he won't find her in time, hits him hard and suddenly, making a rush of raw pain spread through his body like poison. He stayed behind for her, and not even that will be enough. His survival instinct seems to have run out the window when he allows himself to rest his back for a moment against a huge rock. He's breathing heavy, tears welling up in his eyes, and, as he coughs out, some blood splashes onto the front of his helmet. The wind is so loud, it's so hot. He's stumbling on his steps now, aimlessly trying to keep walking. Is he still going towards the tower, trying to find Clarke? Or is he trying to get back to the lab? His mind is foggier than ever and he can feel his body starting to give up on him.

Clarke sees him a minute before he does. She's not even had time to be confused about this human figure clearly fighting to stay on his feet even though the impossibly strong winds keep pushing him around. It takes her a full minute to get closer to him, and even then, she can't believe her own eyes when she really sees him. But there is no time to be relieved that he is alive, or scared to death because he is in such danger. She has to get him out of these woods, so she runs, reaching him right on time to break his fall.

"Clarke" he breathes out right before he coughs again, blood splattering out of his mouth, splashing on the inside on his helmet.

"Bellamy!" she can't believe her eyes, but there is no time for questions or surprise.

"You're alive," he says, relieved, but the winds are too loud for Clarke to hear.

"I've got you. We need to get inside!"

Bellamy does his best to run with her, but he eventually collapses again. Clarke quickly realizes that he isn't strong enough to get to the lab on his own. It isn't easy, but she manages to shake him into a half-conscious state and gets her own body under his, supporting most of his weight as she rushes them towards the lab.

"We're almost there…" she breathes out, dragging him with her, stumbling as fast as she can towards the lab.

Then, it happens. Clarke doesn't know if it was a rock shifting under their combined weight, or the sheer intensity of the winds that pushed them forward. She doesn't have time to question it anyway, because suddenly all there is is the pain. Her piercing screams barely register as she desperately tries to cover the crack on her helmet. She feels it before she can see the hole. Burning. Her skin is burning with a sort of intensity she's never experienced before, and as she breathes in, that feeling extends towards her insides. Her mouth, her throat. Everything is on fire.

"Bellamy!" she screams through the pain, shaking him violently. "We need to get inside."

Trying to fight another violent fit of coughing, Bellamy does his best to get back on his feet. He is completely horrified by the sight of her face, bright red blisters on her skin, bursting open and leaving behind a scary amount of exposed flesh.

We need to get inside is the only thought in his mind as he pushes himself back on his two feet, looking straight at the lab's door. It is so close... He's stayed behind for this, to get to her. He won't let this be their end. Clarke screams in pain when he grabs her by the arms, the burns probably having also reached her right shoulder and arm, but he doesn't stop. Her pain is so sharp as he drags her towards the lab, that he can hear her screaming even over the fury of the winds, but he won't even try to pick her up, he knows they won't be able to make it that way. It's hell, and the woods around him are burning, they're surrounded by a thick cloud of smoke, and he's about to give up, but they make it.

His whole body screams at him in pain when he lifts Clarke up to type the security passcode to open the door, and her hand shakes in obvious pain as she does, but eventually, she gets it right, and the airlock is decompressed, and they make it past the door, closing it behind them just as they see the fire engulfing the green patch of foliage around the lab.

The door is sealed behind them, and they stumble down the stairs together, until they're finally lying on the floor, in the middle of the main level of Becca's lab.

Clean oxygen fills Clarke's lungs as she breathes heavily in and out, blessing Becca's oxygen scrubbers for the clean supply of oxygen she's getting. For a second, she rejoices in the pleasure of breathing normal air again, but as soon as her heart rate starts to fall back into normal levels, the adrenaline rush that allowed her to make it inside the lab starts to dwindle and suddenly the pain from the burns is almost too much to bear. She sees dark spots around the edges of her field of vision, and she's feeling like she's about to pass out from the pain. The tricky part is that it is not only her skin. The air must have been so hot that every single breath she took after her helmet cracked has burned her tissue. It's on her lips, inside her mouth, all the way into her airway. She desperately takes off her helmet and suit, trying to assess the damage. The helmet cracked on the right side of her face, so that is what hurts the most, but it doesn't end there. Her skin is burnt all the way down her neck, towards her right shoulder and down her arm.

"What the hell are you doing here, Bellamy?" it's a whisper, because she's a mess, and she can't manage more.

For the first few seconds he doesn't reply, she just assumes she's so badly injured that her words are no longer comprehensible. He's dropped to the floor right next to her, so she reaches for him, shaking his body, trying to get a reply out of him.

"Bellamy!" she tries louder this time, but he doesn't reply, he doesn't move.

With great effort, Clarke pushes her body up to check on him. He's definitely unconscious, she acknowledges as she takes off his helmet. She grows frantic, her hands fluttering over his body trying to find an injury, there has to be one, with so much blood all over him. But there's no injury for her to patch up.

"Damn it, Bellamy!" she curses loudly, and her throat burns again, she has to spit out the blood, probably from bursting some blisters on the back of her mouth. "Gross" she whispers to herself, making a disgusted face at the taste of burnt flesh.

He does have a pulse, she finds when she checks his neck, but he's flaming hot. She checks his suit for holes, and there it is. There's no point in dwelling on how it got there, but she can see a clear tear on the back of his suit, right where the seal between his helmet and the rest of the suit should pressurize. She feels tears starting to well up in her eyes, but she slaps them away, biting back the curse word as she bursts another blister on her cheek. Bellamy remains unconscious on the floor, no matter how violently she shakes him.

"Think, Clarke" she whispers to herself, pushing her thoughts through the pain of the burns.

She can't concentrate for long, though, because he starts shaking violently, and suddenly he's seizing. She scrambles to push him on his side, holding his head carefully, to avoid any further injuries. She bites back the tears as she counts the seconds. It's been a little over two minutes before he goes limp again.

"You're ok, you're ok, you're ok" Clarke repeats over and over again, in such a small voice that it doesn't even hurt.

She's surprised when his eyes flutter open very soon after the seizure stops. She even tells herself that she's imagining things when his lips curve into what looks like the faintest of smiles.

"You're ok" she repeats as she cups his face between her hands.

"Clarke…" his voice is rough and small, she can feel the pain in it, but he's alive, and they're together. "Your face…"

"Don't worry about it", she shrugs it off, and she's about to say something else, but he starts coughing again.

It's a lot, and she gets more and more worried as she helps him to his side just in time for him to cough out more blood onto the white floor, and before another second passes, he's sick, and he's hurling all over the floor. Clarke is right by his side, her uninjured hand on his flaming hot forehead, trying to keep his brown locks away from his face.

There's a loud crash outside, and the lights inside the lab flicker. She's racking her brain for an answer. He was perfectly fine less than an hour before when they parted ways, and now he's fucking dying in front of her.

"You'll be ok…" she repeats, like a mantra.

"I don't think so," he breathes out before another wave of nausea takes over. "Not all of us are enhanced to live through a nuclear apocalypse" he half-jokes.

As he speaks, Clarke realizes that, if radiation levels are so high that they've wrecked Bellamy's system this quickly, then probably her mom's nightblood serum actually worked, because she doesn't seem to be having any of these symptoms herself, and she's been exposed as well. He's right, all they need is that enhancement, and they'll be able to survive. So she has her answer.

"Wait for me here" she whispers in his ear.

"Not going anywhere…" she hears him complain between coughs as she runs towards the back of the room, where her mother stored the remaining doses of her last test batch of nightblood serum, the one she had injected herself with.

She's back at Bellamy's side with the serum in no time. He looks up at her and he's about to say something right before another seizure takes over.

"Damn it, Bellamy. You're not gonna die on me, ok?" she curses as she holds him on his side, one hand on his shoulder, another one cupping his face, trying to keep his neck straight for the minute and a half that the second seizure lasts.

She spits out blood to the side again when he relaxes. She must have burst another blister back there. Apparently, she'll have to keep quiet if she wants those to heal properly. And she will, but now is not the time…

"What was that?" he breathes out, looking at her through bloodshot eyes.

"Seizure" she mutters. "It's the second one in like 20 minutes. I'd appreciate it if you stopped making it this hard to save your life."

"How are you going to do that?" he asks, confused.

"Here..." she says simply, preparing the syringe.

"Is that…?"

"It's my mom's nightblood serum."

Too much speaking, Clark thinks to herself when she feels the rusty taste of fresh blood in her mouth again. She curses under her breath as she spits out another splatter of dark black blood.

"What's wrong?" Bellamy asks weakly, looking at the stain on the floor.

"Burns" she whispers and then she adds "It hurts to talk".

"Then don't…"

She gives him a small smile, and she's ready with the syringe. She takes his arm with her bad hand and uses the good one to inject the serum slowly into his bloodstream. It's one dose, it's supposed to be all it takes, and now all there is to do is wait.

Finally, Clarke breathes out, utterly spent, and puts the syringe away, falling back onto the wall to her right, seriously needing some support after such a close brush with death.

"Come here" she gestures with her hand "I don't want you to puke again and aspirate your own vomit," she said in a slightly joking tone.

"That would be one very lame way to die after surviving the end of the world…"

His small laugh fills the room as he half-crawls towards her, still too weak to move more gracefully. Clarke uses mostly her good arm to manoeuvre his head onto her lap, helping him to lie on his side using her as his own personal pillow.

"Are we? Surviving the end of the world?" he asks, allowing some vulnerability to reach his eyes with that question.

"We better be…"

"Good… because it would have sucked to miss my ride to space only to die a horrible death down here." He pauses for a second, "Do you think they made it?"

"I got the power on…" Clarke whispers.

"You're a hero, Princess" he smiles up at her.

Even the small smile that curves her lips at that hurts, so she winces in pain but shakes the feeling away, mindlessly pushing Bellamy's sticky curls away from his forehead. He's still running a fever, she realizes as she touches him, but then again, the serum has only been injected a moment ago. She'll start to worry later if there are no signs of him being able to metabolize the radiation without dying in the process.

"This is gross…" he gestures to the pool of vomit and blood they're partially laying on, but none of them moves, they're too tired and in too much pain to do anything.

"I've seen worse…" Clake shrugs it off.

For a while, all they can hear is the world crumbling above them outside the lab. Clarke rests one hand on Bellamy's chest while her other hand draws small circles on his forehead, all the while telling herself that she needs to monitor his heartbeat and his temperature and ignoring the fact that there are about a hundred more efficient tools around them to do so. Her eyes remain closed as she holds him. Although she looks relaxed, a pained expression seems to have taken permanent residence on her face, but she's alive and whole, and that's all that matters to Bellamy as he looks up at her.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" he asks concerned with the nasty aspect of those burns in her face.

"Yes," she admits looking down to meet his eyes.

"Can I do anything to help?"

"Yes," she whispers. "Please don't die."

Bellamy chuckles at that and relaxes onto her touch.

"On it…" he whispers softly before he starts drifting away.

Clarke is looking at him as his eyelids get heavier, and she lets the hand that is resting on his forehead run down on the side of his face. Bellamy hums in approval and she lets out the tiniest of laughs as he leans into her hand, his eyes already closed as he slowly drifts into sleep.

"You'll be fine" she promises "Just rest, I've got you."

At those words, she can feel him relax completely into her and, all of a sudden, he's gone. As her head falls back against the wall and she closes her eyes for a moment, she finally starts to question why the hell he's with her instead of safe in space with the rest of their friends. But then she looks at him again, peacefully sleeping, and the realization that he's the one person she'd choose to survive the end of the world with washes over her. She wouldn't have it any other way.


	2. Wounded

**2\. Wounded**

The world is shifting around him. Bellamy drifts back into consciousness slowly at first, becoming aware of his surroundings gradually. First, there's the rumbling sound of the storm outside, then there are the flickering lights inside the lab. They're unsteady, they blink off at times, but the lab still has power, something he's thankful for even in his hazy state of consciousness. His head is still spinning as he starts to recall the exact circumstances that caused him to be here. They made it to the lab, he was exposed to the radiation, it was hell, but then she was there. He remembers Clarke's hands on his arm, the slight pain of the needle and the sting of the serum as it entered his system, he remembers her voice, blurry in his feverish memories, but still light, and hopeful, promising that they'll live.

When he finally opens his eyes, he realizes that his head is still laying on her lap, her right hand has fallen to the side, but her left one is still resting on his chest. She's shaking, he realizes, that's actually what woke him up.

He's happy to realize that some of his strength is coming back when he sits up to get a better look at her with no effort. Clarke seems to be sleeping, laying back on the wall, but her sleep is not easy. She's shaking and tossing her head around, and her skin, the visible patches that remain untouched by the burns, is covered in sweat. He carefully cups the good side of her face with one hand and tilts it to the side to get a better look at her injuries and winces at the thought of how much that must hurt. He immediately notices that she's abnormally cold to the touch and grows more concerned as he tries to examine her wounds without actually touching her. Maybe if he had paid more attention in earth skills class, he'd have some idea on how to treat injuries like these, but he didn't, so there's nothing he can do.

She's obviously cold, so he looks around scanning the room for something to help her warm up. The entire main level of the lab is as mess after the rushed loading of the rocket, but he manages to find a microfiber thermal blanket and practically runs back to her, kneeling next to her again and wrapping the blanket around her shoulders to help her preserve heat.

"Clarke" he shakes her softly. "Clarke, what's wrong?"

Unlike him, Clarke jerks awake violently at that, backing up in a defensive position and reaching for her belt, used to the handgun or knife that usually reside there. She's hurt, and her more primal defensive instincts are apparently coming to the surface.

"It's ok," Bellamy rises both of his hands to show her that she's not in danger.

Clarke looks around in confusion for a moment. He can see her taking in the lab, the mess that immediately surrounds them, the sound of the apocalyptic storm outside. Finally, her eyes land on his, and relief doesn't even cover the feeling that shines in her eyes as she sees that he looks fine.

"We're ok, you're ok," Bellamy says soothingly, approaching her slowly.

"It hurts…" Clarke breathes out. She chokes out in pain right before she starts coughing, which soon turns into a nasty show of her spitting out blood as the blisters inside her mouth burst with the effort.

"Stop doing that," Bellamy says. He's next to her now, and he's got one hand on her back and is holding her good hand. Her skin is icy against his worried frown deepens at her touch. "You're hurting yourself, Clarke. Breathe easy."

The pain in her eyes when she looks up at him breaks his heart, but she seems to listen to him and tries to relax her breathing. She leans back a little, letting the left side of her body rest on his chest lightly and takes a couple of deep breaths, overwhelmed by the searing pain of the burns, the scary rumble of the storm outside and the warmth of Bellamy's embrace. She decides to focus on the last one for a moment to distract herself from the pain, and it works a little because she feels the fluttering of joy in her heart at the fact that he's still alive, warm and strong next to her.

"It worked, didn't it?" she mutters. "The nightblood… It worked, you're alive."

"It will take more than a bit of fire and radiation to wipe us out, Clarke" she can hear the smile in his voice as he speaks, and she relaxes onto him. The weight of the pain from her injuries is too much, and she feels herself starting to dwindle, she wants to go back to sleep so badly, and he's so warm… all she wants is to just lie there and sleep in his arms.

"No, no, no" Bellamy whispers, trying to hold her up. "Something is wrong with you, and I need your help if I'm going to be able to make it better" he gently shakes her, trying to keep her awake.

"What's wrong?" she whispers faintly.

"You're freezing. And… you're covered in sweat. Clarke, how do I help?"

It hurts to breathe, it hurts to talk and all she wants is for him to hold her and let her sleep, but Bellamy won't let her. He's insisting, and he shakes her back into consciousness every time she drifts away and keeps pushing every time she wants to let go.

"You need to tell me what to do, Clarke" he pleads. He's no expert, but something is definitely wrong with her, and he needs her help to figure out what it is.

"It's fine…" she smiles "The nightblood worked, you're alive."

"Clarke, it's you I'm worried about. You need to tell me what to do!"

"What's wrong?"

"Your skin is freezing, you're sweating, shaking. It… it looks like you're dehydrated or something."

"Yes…" she nods, "Am I bleeding out?"

She almost laughs when she says it, and Bellamy feels anger starting to simmer inside him. He hates that she's not taking her own well being serious enough to make an effort to come up with a solution.

"Clarke, there's something wrong with you!" he ends up yelling at her. "Snap out of it, I want to help you, but for that, I _need_ you to help me do that."

That seems to do it. Clarke closes her eyes for a long moment and takes a deep breath through her nose. When her eyes meet Bellamy's again, she looks more awake, more focused.

"I'm sorry," she says. "The human body has some interesting ways to respond to physical pain…" she sighs. "My skin is cold, I'm sweating, shaking…" she's listing each of the symptoms diligently and frowns in concentration for a moment. "How bad are the burns?"

"What do you mean how bad?"

"How much of my skin's surface is injured? How deep are the burns?"

Bellamy breathes out with relief when he hears that she's now more focused and does his best to help her. He takes a good look at her, even tilting his head to get another angle. There's just not sugarcoating it, half of her face looks practically melted off. It doesn't just stop there, it's on her neck, on her shoulder, and probably under the fabric of her shirt. The one spot on her right over her jawline, exactly where the helmet cracked, is the nastiest. There's a patch of blackened skin, charred under the heat, looking more like an overcooked piece of meat than human skin.

"The right side of your face looks bad" he finally says "And it goes down your neck towards your shoulder, your right hand is also red and there's a couple of blisters," he says the last bit holding her hand up to her face so she can see it.

She nods, judging by the pain she feels when he bends her arm, she can bet that it's her entire right arm that is compromised and she bites back a string of curses.

"How deep?"

"How do I tell?"

"Is it red? Are there blisters? Can you see white or black patches or charred skin?" she asks, and she hates to be her own patient, but she swallows her frustration.

"There's… there's a blackened patch of skin on the right side of your face. It… honestly, it looks nasty. Then there are blisters, all over. Can't you feel it?"

"Oh, believe me, Bellamy; I can…" she glares at him and he gives her an apologetic look.

"It's… it's just burns. As long as we keep them from infection, you should be ok, right?" he's practically begging her to tell him she'll be ok.

Clarke smiles trying to reassure him as she weighs her options. She could tell him how dangerous the extent of her injuries actually is, or she could just tell him she'll be ok and pray for the best. But she scratches out the second option quickly, she couldn't lie to him, and she needs him if she's going to survive, so she takes a deep breath and takes a second to come up with a treatment plan before looping him in.

"It's not that easy…" she finally says. "I mean, it is, usually, when burns are minor. But this is a lot of skin we're talking about. The burns are probably messing up with my thermoregulation already, that's why I'm so cold. And all the fluid buildup and swelling on those blisters is bound to make me dehydrated…"

Bellamy's expression grows more and more worried as she speaks, especially when she closes her eyes obviously trying to bite back the pain. It's evident that even something as simple as speaking makes her injuries sting with pain.

"Dehydration is also to blame for my brain not being at its sharpest…" she sighs. "When it comes to burn victims, priorities are to keep them warm and hydrated. But first you need to debride and dress the burns."

Bellamy nods with a deep frown, because he's seen her do that before, and it doesn't look pretty. She's closed her eyes again, and her head is laying back heavily onto the wall. She looks exhausted. For a minute, he tries to think back to the last time any of them had a full night of sleep, and the memory just doesn't come to mind.

"Don't look at me like I'm going to die," she mildly teases him, and he's amazed at her ability to read him without even looking at him.

"I won't let anything happen to you, Clarke."

His voice is stern and charged with so many feelings that it almost makes Clarke shiver. They can still hear the death wave raging outside, wiping out the world as they know it. His promise is one he very likely won't be able to keep, but there's something in his voice, something in the way he holds her good hand between his that makes her feel safe. For some reason, she believes him.

"What are you doing here? Why did you stay, Bellamy?" she whispers quietly, blue eyes locking with his dark ones.

He looks down for a minute, that little crease taking over his forehead as he sinks into his thoughts. She can actually see each of the layers of his carefully erected emotional walls get stripped down one by one, and it's so intense, that she almost forgets about the pain for a moment. When he finally looks up at her, his eyes are bright and deep with the complexity of _all_ his feelings for her. She's mesmerized by it.

"I wasn't going to leave you behind," he says it as if it is the most obvious thing in the world, with that deep and calming voice of his.

Clarke nods slowly, letting the words sink. It's not the first time that she's amazed by his loyalty, by how reliable he is, by his unconditional support, by the sheer goodness of his heart. Sometimes she still wonders why she's the one person he's chosen to share all of that with.

"Good," she smiles. "Because I need you."

She says it lightly, clearly referring to the fact that she needs his help with those injuries, and probably to how they'll really need each other's help if they'll really survive for five years before they can get their people back. And he gets that message straight away. But she's also saying something else, and he hears that too. She's said it before, he knows. In the midst of the chaos that their lives have been since they've reached the ground, there has been only one fact they could rely on to be true. They need each other. There is no reason for the end of the world to change that.

"How do we do this?" Bellamy says, blinking away the intensity of the moment.

Although she hasn't had time to explore it completely, Clarke has spent more time in the lab than he has, so she concludes that the best place for him to tend to her injuries would be down on the third level of the lab, where Becca kept a fully functioning operating room and what looked like a 21st century state of the art individual intensive care unit. She was a neuroscientist, after all. Clarke could only hope that the experiments that had taken place in that room had been carried out on willing subjects. Abby has taken much of the supplies, including any anaesthesia and pain medication, but there's still some surgical tools and even some antibiotic to use. As unreliable as 100-year-old medicine may be, she prefers to take her chances with old antibiotics over nothing.

Clarke resists at first when Bellamy insists on carrying her downstairs, but she's so cold, and in so much pain, that she eventually drops it and lets him have his way. He's extremely careful not to touch the right side of her body as he first helps her to her feet and then picks her up and helps her to wrap her good arm around his neck to remain steady

"I think it did work," Clarke says, resting her face on Bellamy's shoulder. "The nightblood serum" she clarifies after a beat.

"I feel normal, so I think it did… you saved my life, again."

"I guess I owed you that after I pointed a gun at you and threatened to kill you like 24 hours ago…"

"You wouldn't have," he says with certainty, as they make their way down the white stairs towards the third level.

"No, I wouldn't have…" Clarke confesses in the faintest of whispers, more to herself than him.

And it's true. She couldn't do it because, even when she thought she was saving her people and securing a future for humanity, none of it would have mattered if he was dead. Sacrificing Bellamy's life was the one line she just couldn't bring herself to cross, even if it meant risking the fate of the human race.

The words seem to lift a weight Bellamy didn't know was pressing on his heart. There is no questioning the integrity of her intentions. Everything Clarke did, she did for her people, and Bellamy has always admired that. Her strength, her determination, her ability to make impossible choices. He admires that in her, yes, but on the back of his mind, he's always known that trusting Clarke with his life meant that there could be a time when she'd have to choose between his life and her duty as a leader. He doesn't want to think about what that says about him, but something warms stirs in him when she confesses, in as many words as she has, that she would choose him, just as he would her.

When they finally get to their destination, Clarke is happy to find that, aside from some instruments that were knocked from their shelves, everything still looks fine. It's far from ideal because her mother has taken as much of the supplies as she could for their time in the bunker, but it's a lot better than many of the sanitary conditions in which she's had to tend to wounds during her time on the ground.

"What now?" Bellamy says, looking confused on the face of all that medical equipment.

"We need to find some surgical instruments, something to dress the wound and, if we're lucky, some antibiotic solution. We'll also need to get some warm water to soak my shirt before you can cut it off."

"_We_ don't need to do anything" he clarifies, as he puts her down on the bed. "Just point to where I can find the stuff and I'll get it."

Once again, she wants to fight him at first, but she lets it go, knowing that it's best for her injuries if she actually stays as still as possible. They're both incredibly happy to find that not only does the small sink towards the side of the room still has running water, but it also has hot running water.

"There must be an underground stream this place is connected to, and she must have built one hell of a reliable generator for it to withstand two freaking nuclear apocalypses," Bellamy says in surprise as he carries the water towards her.

"Thanks, Becca" Clarke laughs a little.

It takes a couple of tries, but as Clarke carefully soaks the parts of her shirt that have stuck to the burns, Bellamy eventually finds all the instruments they need. He's placed a chair next to her bed and every item Clarke has requested is carefully laid out in front of them.

"How do we do this?" he asks, looking for guidance.

"Listen, Bellamy" she's dead serious as she speaks now, waiting for his eyes to meet hers before goes on. "The burns are deep. It will hurt. A lot. If I ask you to stop, please don't. It's already been hours and if we don't take care of this there _will_ be an infection, potentially a deadly one. Promise me you will finish the job, even if I'm begging you to stop."

His expression is conflicted as he nods in agreement. There are few things Bellamy Blake hates more than the sound of Clarke in pain, and he's definitely not looking forward to this, but he'll do anything in his power to save her life, just as she would for him.

"I need you to say it," she insists.

"Fine. I promise. Now tell me what to do."

When she first asks him to use the restraints to bind her to the bed, he refuses. It's only when she starts doing it herself, obviously hurting her hand in the process, that he agrees to follow her instructions and fastens the straps to bind her to the bed. He thinks that's going to be one of the hardest parts, but nothing prepares him for the torture that are her screams.

Before he begins, Clarke takes her time to explain the function of each of the tools. She teaches him how to differentiate dead tissue from healthy tissue and how he'll have to cut out all the dead one, emphasizing the fact that, even if it looks like he's hurting her, he needs to get it all. She explains how he'll have to cut off her shirt and peel it away from the burnt skin it has stuck to first. She gives him instructions on how to use forceps, scalpel and scissors to cut off the dead pieces of her skin. There are also instructions on how to soak the bandages in antibiotic solution and dress the wounds, and she even spends some time instructing him on aftercare. As soon as the dressings have dried on her skin, he'll have to peel them off, taking whatever dead or loose tissue that remains with them and then dress the wounds again, then repeat. He jokes about her being paranoid when she makes him repeat after her every step of the process, but she doesn't say anything about that.

Bellamy understands her insistence on drilling him on the instructions when he begins to cut and peel off her shirt. She tries to hide it as best as she can at first, cursing through gritted teeth, closing her eyes as tight as they'll go and tensing her body, but as soon as the injuries are completely exposed and he starts to scrape off and cut away the dead and charred skin, he's on his own.

It's torture. Hours upon hours of it. Tears start running down her face some ten minutes into the process, and eventually, she starts screaming as he methodically follows her instructions. At some point, she starts begging for it to stop, and he feels like he's going to be sick. He keeps going, though, just as promised, wishing that she just passed out from the pain. Her screams are sharp and piercing, and it's so damn difficult to concentrate, but Bellamy pushes through it and only focuses on his task, taking off piece by piece of her burnt skin and doing his best to block out the sounds of her agony.

Saying that she remains conscious during the whole process is inaccurate, to say the least. There's a whole new state of consciousness, she discovers, when the body is subject to such extremes of physical pain for a long period of time. She's awake, yes. She's self-aware, partially. It's like she's in this in-between state where she's not really conscious of how much and how loudly she's screaming, or what she's saying, or how much harder she's making Bellamy's job as she tries to squirm away from the tools, fighting against the restraints that keep her on the bed. It's fucking torture, the twisted, soul-crushing kind. However, there's a sliver of actual consciousness at the back of her mind. She tries as hard as she can to disappear into herself, finding refuge in that tiny bit of herself that knows Bellamy's doing this out of love, that he's taking care of her, that this is what it takes for her to live. She repeats those facts in her mind until she practically becomes them. It's all there is outside the pain, so she holds on to that, and she takes all the pain in.

It feels like a lifetime has passed when he's finally washing off the skin with a clean piece of cloth and warm water. His hands are feathery soft as he applies the antibiotic soaked dressing to her arm, shoulder, neck and face. He hasn't said a word since she started screaming. He hasn't even been able to look into her eyes. The first thing he does is taking off the restraints. He's disgusted by the whole thing, having to spend hours making her suffer, and the guilt threatens to consume him.

Clarke's breathing is laboured and uneven and it takes her a long moment to bring herself to open her eyes and look at him. She's still in pain, of course, but it's a dull sort of pain, nothing compared to the feeling of her skin being cut off piece by little piece.

"Is it over?" Clarke whispers, her eyes still closed.

"It's over" he reassures her and takes a seat next to her, unsure of what to do or say.

"You did good, Bellamy. It's done now. It's ok."

"How could you ask me to hurt you like that?" he snarls.

His question is irrational, but she gets it. It's messed up with him, the hours pain and screaming. She can almost see the darkness in his eyes, all the memories of having to force pain upon his loved ones and all the self-hatred that has come with it. She hates herself for having to put him through all of that.

"You didn't hurt me" she promises. "It had to be done. You understand that, don't you?"

"I hate that," he grumbles.

She knows. And she does too. She hates all the things they've done using that same justification. Terrible things, painful things, the stuff of nightmares.

"Maybe now we get our chance to do things differently," she speaks carefully, searching for his eyes as she does.

"Maybe…"

"I'm sorry you had to do that…" Clarke's hand finds his as she speaks. "I need you to understand that it really had to be done. It would have gotten infected. I would have been dead within three days."

"You were screaming. I… I'm sorry."

"Please don't feel bad about it…"

Clarke hates to see him in pain as much as he hates hurting her, so she needs him to believe that what she's saying is true, even if he had to do a horrible thing to save her.

"At least tell me you're feeling better," he almost begs.

"I am," Clarke nods. "Thank you."

"You should get some sleep, Clarke."

"You too. There's a small living space on the lowest level. It's nothing compared to the mansion on the other side of the island, and nowhere near as fancy as the bunker Murphy told us about, but Raven said it was built exactly for this type of situation."

"Lead the way, Princess."

Bellamy helps her off the bed and, together, they go further down into the building, until they reach the sixth level. There, they find a password protected door that truly looks like it could survive the apocalypse. Clarke types in the password and the lock opens. At this point, they're not surprised to find that lights turn on as they get through the door. It's small, but it looks safe. There's a desk with a smaller version of the computer upstairs, a glass table and chairs, a big leather couch in front of a flat-screen TV and two doors leading to the bathroom and bedroom respectively.

"I'll try to find something to wear," Clarke says, gesturing towards the room and looking down at her shirt, half destroyed after Bellamy cut off the sleeve that was sticking to her burnt skin. "I bet there's hot water here too, maybe you can actually get a warm shower."

"That doesn't sound like a bad idea," Bellamy nods after considering it for a minute. "We can search this place for supplies and work out an inventory of that tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." Clarke echoes.

Bellamy quickly disappears into the bathroom, but Clarke remains there for a long moment, still savouring the word in her lips. Tomorrow. There will be a tomorrow, one in which they will be alive and together. Against all odds, they've made it past the end of the world.


	3. Broken

**3\. Broken**

It's barely been a year since the dropship touched the ground, but there's been so much bloodshed, so many impossibly dangerous situations, one after another, that it feels like a lifetime. The time in the ark feels so far away, but even after all he's been through on earth, there are some memories that will be with Bellamy forever. He's confronted with some of those when he walks into the bright big bathroom installed in the lowest level of Becca's lab. Everything is big, smooth and shiny. The bathtub, the shower, the mirror and even the carefully lined toiletries are from a time before, so different from anything they've seen lately and from the simple and efficient type of life they led on back on the ark.

It feels like a whole new world, but he actually knows how to use this type of shower thanks to having watched many hours of movies about the time before the missiles in that tiny television that his mother had once gotten as another desperate attempt to keep a relentless 9-year-old Octavia quiet. However, nothing could have prepared Bellamy for the feeling of the perfectly warm, steady and powerful stream of water on his back. It is nothing compared to any shower he ever had on the ark. The fact that he can't clearly remember when was the last time he had time to properly clean himself up only contributes to the relief he feels as he scrubs off the dirt and stress of the last couple of days using a fresh bar of soap, foamier than anything he's ever tried before. He feels strangely displaced in this mundane task, but the overload of senses that this experience provides is exactly what he needs right now, and he lets the warm water and soap wash away the worst of his worries. He scrubs at his hands almost violently at first to wash off Clarke's blood from his skin and gradually calms down when it disappears down the drain.

As his clean hands rub soap over his face and hair, Bellamy is brought back to a different time, before his skin was hardened by the inclemency of the ground and hard work in the ark; when he'd just been a boy, a loving child to his mother and a protective brother to his little sister. He remembers newborn Octavia, fragile and wide-eyed in his arms; toddler Octavia blubbering out words and giggles and looking at him as if he had all the answers; five-year-old Octavia, her eyes shining with curiosity as he taught her how to read. Her sixteen years under the floor flash in his mind; the stories, the games, the sound of their combined quiet laughter, the soft texture of her hair as he braided it, her anger when she was old enough to understand and hate her situation, the tears that came with that. Even then, Bellamy had noticed the hints of the fire that burned inside her. Even when she was the quiet and obedient second child hidden under the floor, there was something special in her… And then, there are the memories of Octavia on the ground. He remembers the mix of fear and pride, insecurity and awe as he saw her bloom into the strong woman she has become.

Before he realizes and tries to stop it, he can feel the warm and unfamiliar stream of tears mixing up with the water from the shower. It's unexpected, and he can't really remember when was the last time he actually let his feelings out like this, but it's happening long before he can try to bottle it all up. He already misses his sister and he hates that she's locked back under the floor, and the memory of Clarke screaming in pain under the scalpel he was wielding has apparently messed up with him in more ways than he realizes. It's not like he's making an effort to sort through his feelings, it just hits him in waves. Relief that they found each other out there on time and made it back, fear of the storm and the world shifting above them, a sharp jagged stab of terror when he remembers her telling him she could have died from her injuries, burning guilt at the memory of having tied her to the bed to suffer through that procedure for hours…

He's dizzy with the intensity of it all, and his face is a puffy mess. It's a weird feeling, the one he gets after this time alone. It's so rare to get the chance to break down like this instead of having to push it to the back of his head to take care of the next impossible task. He feels weirdly light when he finally gets out of the shower, but there's an emptiness that accompanies the feeling, a dull craving for comfort that he can't shake off. A small smile creeps onto his face when he notices the small pile waiting for him next to the sink. He hadn't even noticed Clarke come in and out to drop off a clean change of clothes and a towel neatly folded on top of each other. The clothes are soft and light, and he immediately feels like he's missing something. He's too used to the bullet-proof vest, or the heavy belt that holds his handgun and some key supplies, or the waterproof jacket shielding him from the weather. It takes him a minute to realize that he doesn't actually need any of those, not really. He and Clarke are the only ones left, there are no more battles to fight. He feels like an idiot for finding that idea unsettling instead of comforting.

When he finally makes his way into the room, he is still a mess and Clarke is sleeping. She's apparently brushed her hair and changed into a clean set of sleeping clothes, and she looks as out of place in the middle of that huge fluffy bed as he feels. The whole thing feels incredibly unfamiliar, and the bed, just like the shower has, looks like something out of an old story. He's smiling, though, because he can only imagine how comfortable the thing is, and he's so incredibly glad that Clarke is actually resting.

Bellamy is in the middle of arranging a couple of extra pillows and a blanket on the floor when she stirs and looks at him through heavy eyelids. It's not her first time sleeping on a bed as comfortable as this, so she's not totally unfamiliar with the lingering pull of sleep that goes with sleeping in a warm and soft surface. She's not completely disoriented, but it's not lost on her that this is a very rare occurrence. She's too is used to sleeping on the ground, on any flat-ish surface where she can rest her back for just shy of three hours, always on the alert, always jerking awake to face yet another day on the ground. This right here is a luxury she hasn't experienced since before the skybox, a time that feels so distant she wouldn't even recognize who she was then. Sleep lingers on her like a heavy blanket that makes everything fuzzier, so she wastes two minutes too long just looking at him. Her eyes run over him freely, because she's still half asleep, and the part of her that's always forcing herself to look away from him is not fully alert yet.

"What are you doing?" she frowns at the makeshift bed on the floor as he starts to make himself comfortable in it.

"Hey. Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," his voice is quiet but rough, like sandpaper, like the dull pain of having lost so much.

"I wasn't sleeping" she lies, it's so evident in her tone, clouded by sleep, that he actually lets out a small chuckle at it.

"Go back to sleep, Clarke."

"You're not sleeping on the floor, Bellamy," she says, still halfway between sleep and awake, and she moves to the side to leave some room for him. "It's even better than the one in the mansion. You need to try it," she gestures to the bed.

"I'm fine right here, go back to sleep. You need the rest."

"Come on, a couple of hours ago you were dying on me," she reminds him, trying to keep her tone light. "You need the rest too."

He's actually tucking himself in his makeshift bed at the foot of the real bed, and Clarke has to admit that, after the dire conditions they've had to get used to, a couple of thick blankets and a pair of soft and fluffy pillows don't sound too bad. She, however, won't let it go. She quickly convinces herself that it's because she hasn't made sure that he's fully recovered yet, so she wants to be as close as possible in case something went wrong with his procedure, and even confessing that makes her uneasy, but deep down she knows that she just wants him close to him. They almost lost each other too many times in a day to be comfortable in any other way that's not in each other's arms.

She doesn't tell him that last bit, of course, but she does roll to the side of the bed closest to him and reaches for his arm, tugging him towards her.

"I'm a good sleeper, I won't kick you off the bed," she half-jokes.

"Clarke," he's about to say no again but then looks at her for a second and her eyes don't match her joking tone.

The upper half of her body is hanging off the edge of the bed, and her hands are wrapped around his arm, pulling him towards her. He's too tired to do anything, and she's hurt, and he's afraid of messing up with her injuries in his sleep, so he has more than enough reasons to say no, but there's that look, the one they've shared so many times, the one that says I need you. Sometimes she can't say what's really on her mind, but he gets it anyway.

"Fine," he finally concedes and lets her drag him to the bed with her.

He shouldn't really be surprised after the shower, but this bed is a whole new level of overwhelming comfort. It's nothing like sleeping on the ground or tied to a tree to hide from their enemies, it doesn't even come close to his bunk back in the ark. He remembers the stories of heaven and hell and that whole world that's supposed to be up in the clouds, and when Clarke pulls the covers over them, he's sure that this must be what that feels like.

"Pretty good, huh?" she teases.

"That's an understatement."

When Clarke rolls to lay on her good side and looks at him, he's actually smiling. It's not a full-blown blinding smile, but the right corner of his mouth is slightly raised, and the seemingly permanent tension in his jaw seems to have loosened a bit, and she knows that this is another of those fleeting moments she'll obsess over as soon as she gets her hands on some paper and something she can sketch with.

"How are you feeling?" he asks after a long stretch of comfortable silence. The sheets rustle as he rolls on his side to face her, mimicking Clarke's position.

"I'd say the pain is about a seven…" she's honest with him because she doesn't remember how to be anything else right now. "But you were the one almost dying earlier today, so, how are you feeling?"  
Something goes dark in her eyes as she bounces the question right back at him, and suddenly it's too real, that both of them could have died so easily within the past twenty-four hours. There's a deep frown on his face when he finally answers.

"I'm just tired," Bellamy says. It's true, but he's not talking only about lack of sleep; Clarke knows it, she's also good at getting what he doesn't say.

"It's been a long day," she nods, but there's no indication in her tone or in her wide-open eyes that she's about to roll over and fall asleep again. "I was scared today…" she whispers.

"I still am," his voice is as quiet as hers as he speaks his truth. Even five levels removed from the ground, they can still hear the rumbling of the storm above, and it's terrifying.

"When I saw the rocket take off…" Clarke seems to choke a bit on her words "I thought I'd never see you again."

"I told you I'd get back," the words falling off his lips feel completely weightless, effortless as if he's just pointing out the most simple and obvious truth.

"You did so much more than that…" it's not a conscious decision to reach for his hands under the sheets, but he meets her halfway and their fingers intertwine automatically. "You're here," she adds. They both know that that doesn't really change their situation, but the way she says it, it feels like that small fact could make everything right in the world.

He nods slowly and then looks down towards the spot where their hands lay joined under the sheets.

"So many of our people are not…" he is unable to hide the pained expression from his face. "My…" the words die in his lips as his voice cracks open.

"Your sister will be fine, Bellamy," Clarke promises, immediately reading what's weighing on his heart. "Octavia is strong. She's a leader, she'll get our people through this. She has Indra and Kane… and my mom." This time, it's her voice that falters a little at the last couple of words, but she takes a deep breath and when she speaks again her tone is calm and promising. "You will meet again…"

"I left her alone, Clarke." He's looking back into her eyes now, the rare sight of vulnerability shining on the sparkly golden flecks scattered in his brown eyes. "She was scared, and I left her there, under the floor."

"You didn't…" she begins, but he cuts her off suddenly.

"I did." He looks away, ashamed "Everything I've ever done since I was six years old was for her. And now she's scared and trapped there, and I…"

"Bellamy," Clarke's voice is strong and steady, stopping him from spiralling too far. "Listen to me." She lets go of his hand to cup his face and forces him to look at her. "Octavia will be fine. She's not the girl hiding under the floor and you know that. We'll get to them, and she will be fine."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because she's your sister. She's strong and fair, and she loves you. She'll survive and you two will meet again."

"I was meant to get back to her, but I chose not to. I followed you. I chose you…"

It's Clarke's turn to feel the sting of tears welling up in her eyes. There's something broken in him, something she can't fix. The void left by the absence of his sister is something she'll never be able to fill. She doesn't really have the right words to respond to that, even when there's so much so say. She wants to thank him, for choosing her time and time again, even when the choice was to stay behind in a world about to be swallowed by fire; she wants to say that she'd do the same, because he's everything; she wants to say too much, but the words won't come out. A single tear runs down her cheek right before she curls into his chest, holding him as tightly as she can, trying to keep all of his broken pieces together.

"I promise you," she whispers against his chest. "I promise that we'll get them back. You will get your sister back, Bellamy…"

A wave of warmth washes over her when he hugs her back, his arms wapping impossibly tightly around her. He hides his face in her hair and breathes her in. She's soft and unwavering, warm and strong; she's heaven in his arms. The weight of the world on their shoulders has been such a tough burden to bear, and there are so many choices that weigh so heavy on their hearts… Bellamy shudders, and there's a soft sound that comes from deep in his chest, like a small animal in pain. Clarke feels his pain buzzing through her as if they were one. She's shaking, her eyes burning. The thing about falling apart is that it's best to do it when someone can hold you together.

"There will be flowers," Clarke whispers, her own voice is rough with unshed tears "The grass will be bright and soft… the sun will be warm on your skin, and nothing will hurt anymore."

Clarke can feel Bellamy slowly relaxing at her words. He doesn't say anything about the evident wet spot on his shirt, where Clarke's own tears are gathering, and they just hold each other as she continues to paint the picture of the future they both want so desperately.

"There will be sweet fruit in the trees and a river with water so clear that you can see the little fish swimming inside," she keeps going.

She can almost see it when she closes her eyes. A place where they'll have the chance to redeem all their sins, a time when they'll finally feel that every single terrible thing they had to do on earth was worth the sacrifice, where they'll finally be able to find the peace to forgive themselves. A place to grow old and see their people thrive.

"We'll have a home, Bellamy. For a long time, there won't be any graves to dig, no fights. There will be laughter, children running under the stars. There will be peace." After a long pause, she adds: "We'll get to be who we want to be, not who he had to be to survive. We'll be free."

"We'll call it Eden…" Bellamy whispers into her hair and he can feel her small smile against his chest.

"We will," he can hear hope in her voice. "We'll get there. Eden."

That single word whispered in the darkness has the weight of a promise. They cling to it as they try to hold each other together. Sometimes it feels like they'll never get to be more than that: an array of broken pieces endlessly fighting to not fall apart. What came together to make them the people they are sometimes fades away, and suddenly they're nothing but the pain, the guilt, the grief. So they fight it, because that's who they are, and they remind each other that a different kind of life is possible, that there has to be hope. As long as they stay like this, the storm can be kept at bay, they can dull the pain, face up to the fear. It's just them and the dream of long summer nights in Eden, the promise of happiness calling them.


End file.
